Disenchanted
by danxi123
Summary: What if Hattie never took off her mask? What if she had gone home? Is it still a Cinderella ending?
1. Glass slippers

Hello everyone! This idea was completely and utterly random, but what can you do? Break my brain? …Actually, I already tried. Doesn't work anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer::insert witty remark about not being mine::

…………………….

He was so beautiful. So much I could not ruin Kyrria for him, and could not be the downfall of the country. The only consolation I had was that maybe I would see him again, but it would a bittersweet meeting, far away and under countless layers of soot. That and it was not idea to host these balls. Most likely he would marry the blond haired wench that had captured his interest, his idea or not. While I sat there in the garden with char, comforted by the closeness of him, Hattie ran out to us.

"Prince Charmont, your parents are wondering where you are. Don't you think it would be best to enjoy (here she sneered not so subtly at me) company? Don't forget the dance you promised me." Hattie smile intergratingly at him, and clutched his arm.

Did she not notice the piece of spinach caught between her two front teeth?

Char protested, glancing at me, but I rose and swept the two my finest. I felt drained of energy and dried of tears. I no longer wished to hear Char perform his song. All I wanted—well, it could never be fulfilled, so it was useless wishing, wasn't it?

"My Lord, I was rather tired, and expected soon, so if you'll excuse me." I ignored his shouts and Hattie's smirk. He didn't go after me, with Hattie restraining his arm. Luckily I did not pass anyone on the dark road home. The rain was in full force, and one glass slipper was stuck in the mud. With a cry of exasperation, I left it there, a lone sparkle in this dreary night. Suddenly I was angry at everyone, at everything. I could not surpass my curse. Was I stuck forever serving to witless Olive and cruel Hattie? Was I to sneak around, depending on my fairy book, wringing every last drop of information to feel close to Char? Arriving back at the manor, I found Lucille and Mandy waiting for me.

"Oh honey…." Mandy clucked sympathically at my muddy petticoats and drenched frame. Lucille magicked me clean. Neither commented on my missing slipper. I walked upstairs with only one slipper. Closing the door, I slowly tugged the shoe off my foot and hurled it against the wall. The expected crash did not come, and the slipper fell to the ground unharmed, thwarting my temporary satisfaction and spending my anger. I undressed later and found I was wrong. I would never be dry of tears.

………………..

"Ow!" Something hit my forehead quite hard and bounced off.

"Wake up Ella!" An order. I climbed out of bed to find Olive staring at me. It was her delight to wake me up in various ways, from dumping water on me or bouncing KJs off my head, as her hand was squeezing one now. I scrambled off onto the floor and donned my daily rags. My forehead was still tender, and was sporting a wisteria purple. Definitely a keeper.

"Mother told me to bring you to her. But first…" She held out her hand. I sighed and produced a little white cake, baked the yesterday. Since I received no pay as a servant (pft more like slave) Olive demanded a white cake baked everyday just for her. With all the cake and coins lining her dresses, she'd soon be able to surpass Mum Ogla in …um…size.

"Come on then." She walked away, leaving me to follow in dread. What did Mum Olga want?

…………….

"Char! Wake up!"

"Umph! Mmmff…argh!" The weight that stubbornly held on to me was officially suffocating me at the same time. "Elise! Get off."

"But Char!" My little sister held on to me, dragging out my name. Elise was 10 years old, but like she was acted 3. 'Her naivety adds to my brother complex' I sighed. Elise ran downstairs, happy at finally rousing me. It was just as well, since I wanted to be alone now. I sat at the edge of my bed, not ready to endure a day of grueling lessons and princeliness. The tiredness would not go away. Maybe a quick write in my diary would help.

'The ball had continued to two in the morning, with many people clamoring for an encore of my song. That girl Hattie-ugh!-was most obnoxious after Lela left, repeating the same things; aging, deformity, known bandit….Lela was a true friend during these balls. Thank goodness there are over! I just realized! I have no way to contact her! Well, I know she lives and Bast and has an orange carriage, but she said those are fairly common over there, right? I wish she did not have to leave early. She promised to listen to my song. Lela reminds of a person I can't quite place, and makes me laugh often. Regardless of her mask, I would say she was quite pretty, with he white gown and glass slippers….'

Glass slippers?

I stopped writing and stared at my words. Ella. Memories flashed before me, my fingers twitched as if I could run my hands through her hair and—no! My mind was betraying me again, full of thoughts I had banished-or thought I had. Although…didn't Ella have glass slippers from the wedding? Was there a connection between those two? I shook my head ruefully, getting up from my bed. My wishes had simply leaked out, bridging fantasy and reality together. My paranoia had linked a married Ella and a masked girl in Bast. I needed to douse myself in cold reality, fast. Ella was a heartless minx who played me for a fool, end of story. I strode out the door, and slammed the door a bit harder than necessary.

But no matter how hard I tried, from my lessons to sparring, a pair of glass slippers twinkled in my, firm and resolute.

…………………….

Did anyone like? My reviews depend on your reviews and idea! Three reviews and I'll update! (hopefully) I need your ideas! And yeah, I know some facts are screwed up. Is there a name for Char's sister?


	2. Ella Char

I'm back! Soo…I did get the needed reviews (which I love…REALLY LOVE…you have no idea how much I love them!) Kind of an introspective piece this time, and a bit darker. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Prince Charmont was respected by many, and the country's shining jewel. He was eager to learn, had a sense of justice, and above all, kept his mind ground in the sensibilities of the real world. Many times his father and mother worried about his lack of spending little luxuries and was getting too serious beyond his years. It wasn't as if an automan had replaced the energetic kid that had laughed easily at his mother's side reigned, but he was cut off, despite the fawning and the many acquaints he had. Perhaps careful doting, people daring not to say anything morally offending, had brought him closer to ideal royalty yet isolated him at the same time in close manners of the heart. All he really needed was a true friend, to carefully prune back the layers of polite etiquette and indifferent distance. Someone he could confide in, without restraint and stuffy silence. And he had not only found a friend, but had fallen hard.

Ella.

That heart wrenching minx, the coquettish fool that had ripped the defenses of his heart. She had stripped him bare of manners and kindled humor and it hurt all the more, his heart laid bare, and a raw wound not visible, the kind that hurts most. He would not forget in a hurry, for wasn't he the kind slow to anger, but even slower to forgive? He would not give his trust, confidentiality, his heart anytime soon. Hearts withdraw, and he threw himself into business as usual. Prince Charmont was a prince, after all. A tiny blip of his thoughts, suddenly disjointed in places, his mind most definitely indulging in fantasy had slowly rolled around in his mind, gaining momentum. So when offered on a mission in Bast, he jumped at the chance. Lela, his friend from the balls lived there. An ulterior motive lodged in his mind was only known by him though, manifesting in the form of glass slippers, sparkling and taunting.

Ella had an alter ego. Her name was Cinders. Cinders was dumb, vacant, felt no reason to rebel. Cinders would always stay that way, her fine training in mutton forks wasting, languishing in oblivion. Her hands were rough, hard calluses with worn fingernails. Her feet endured similar treatment, once tender, now impervious to frost and blistering heat. Cinders had no dreams, no ambitions, only to serve Mum Olga and her stomachless daughters. Her eyes blank, she listened to Hattie boast of conquests, Olive whine of failed attempts of money making. She felt no humiliation at slight digs, or even more conspicuous ones. If this was the bottom, left with no choices, there was no shame in panting on all fours like a dog. The sight afforded Hattie and Olga with much amusement. Her green eyes had a dull cast that Mandy's tonic could not draw away and her mouth was slack, unpleasing to the eye. One part of Cinders' mind was lucid enough, and left to rampage during many insomniac nights. Cinders wasn't even sure if it wasn't even considered lucid. It drives to the same subject every night with persistence.

Char.

His curly hair, the neat and rounded handwriting tormented her mind, and was one pain that Cinders could not shy away from. The pain was keen, a sharp double edged sword that pierced through her limited span of emotions. Cinders was a simple girl. She did not want to have these feelings, an unwilling martyr. She did not want to lay curled up, arms encircling her legs, and cry tears that stuck to her cheeks and taste a sour acidity that made her too aware of herself, too fresh, too vulnerable. These nights were half blessing, half cursed, and Cinders tried to hold her struggling feelings at a distance. Even the centaur named Apple could not comfort her, evoked tortured memories of the giver. One day Ella stared out the window at the bustling market place. She thought about Cinders, black and white blending into an indistinct gray and realized Cinders was no longer an alternate personality. She and Cinders had become one.

Whoa. Now that I look back, that's really dark. I'll get back to the story next chapter, and Ella will meet Char::dramatic gasp:: I finally figured out what Mum Olga will do to Ella! Please review if you liked…or hated it to the point of no return.


	3. Impossible

Please forgive any ooc-ness or mistakes. It's been a loooong time since I've read Ella Enchanted. (I also might have gotten some names wrong…)

PS. I'm thinking chapter 2 should just be a separate drabble. Just disregard it as part of the story, kay? 

PPS. The timeline skips around a bit, so be prepared.

PPPS. If anyone knows the name of the king and queen, let me know!

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Two Months After

Prince Charmont was not himself.

Two months after the balls, he was still seen tripping over the decorative vases that lined the palace hallways and wearing his shirts inside out. The dukes and courtiers noticed his strange behavior. His sister ran away in tears, bawling "I want Char back!" But the most concerned of all were his parents. Both the Queen and the King loved their son, and wished to see him back to his usual gracious self, not this stumbling zombie that assumed his form. Queen Daria worried the most. She had seen rumors and whispers, caught onto sweeping dresses, heard snatches in the air, and knew it was a vulnerable time for her son. She couldn't allow anyone to question Char's right to the throne, even as he was wandering aimlessly with vacant eyes. She was determined to make her son return, no matter what.

--

One Day After the Ball

No day should be spent next to Mum Olga or Hattie, much less dreading the inevitable command of giving Hattie a foot rub and arranging Mum Olga's flowers so they were _just so._ I often fantasized what I would do if free of the curse. I'd smash the gnome-made vase the flowers resided in, and stay up all night laughing hysterically at Hattie's shrieks as she discovered a new 'treasure' nestled in her bed sheets.

In the end, it was just a dream. An almost hopeless dream, tantalizing as a tiny window set high up above a prisoner: it was too small to crawl through, yet still stirred hope. My only light in the gloomy mansion was Mandy. We chattered and laughed about inconsequential things, and in the kitchen, I returned to a shadow of my former self. Still, even with Mandy, I often wished away my hours, so that I might be myself without ceaseless demands and insinuations. After the balls though, when I was by myself, all I saw behind my shut eyes was the look on Char's face when he greeted the young blonde. I thought fate could deal me no worse cards.

I was wrong.

I followed Olivia to Mum Olga's bedroom, where she told the news. And then, the window high above me shut, washing me in darkness.

---

Two Months After The Balls

"Dear husband, we need to talk. It's about Char."

The King looked up from his scrolls of parchment, in the middle of dipping the pen in the inkwell. The tiny laugh lines around his eyes had drooped. His whole frame collapsed inward, so he was not the powerful king of Kyrria. He was simply an anxious father whose son had gone figuratively missing. Sighing, he leaned back in the ornately carved chair and looked at his wife.

"Daria, I don't know what to say. Char is his own self, and a ferociously independent thinker. I was hoping he could work his problem out."

"Dear, I don't think that will work. He's already had two months and he isn't getting any better. He needs help."

"He is a prince. How could be he fit to rule over our people if he cannot even resolve his own problems? I know it worries you. God knows how many sleepless nights I have had."

"But Frederick, the rumors…they are already beginning to whisper…I do not want my son dethroned…." Queen Daria bit her lip, knowing she had gone too far.

"WHAT?!" The King roared, slamming his palms on the table. He rose up, a terrible light in his eyes. "NO SON OF MINE WILL BE FORCED FROM THE THRONE SIMPLY BECAUSE HE IS NOT HIMSELF."

The Queen rushed toward him, crying. But already the King had slumped back in his seat, exhausted.

"Daria…" he moaned, his head cradled by his arms. "What should we do?"

The Queen sat on the arm rest of the chair and hugged her husband, offering silent comfort. They remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Then The Queen stood up and replied, "Char must go away from the palace. We must protect him. Our citizens and palace staff cannot see him so disheartened and out of sorts.

Besides", she said, new hope bubbling in her voice, "It is time he went to Bast. Young princes do so every year, as part of the good diplomatic relations between Kyrria and Joring, like the trip to Ayortha last year. Maybe he can recover there."

The king nodded. He didn't mind being away from Char for a year, if it meant protecting the throne.

Char will get better, he thought. And then he wondered: what could cause so much heartbreak?

----

One Day After The Balls

Mum Olga puckered her thin lips together, smearing the garish red color. Daintily, she set the lipstick tube back on the vanity and patted her lips to blot. She glanced disdainfully at me, and looked back into the mirror, preening very which way.

I was forcibly reminded of a plump spider that twitched the strings of its web to draw the hapless pray closer. I was the hapless prey. But at least I didn't wind up with daughters like Hattie and Olive, and a husband such as my father. A ghost of a smile flitted across my face.

Mum Olga turned and caught my smile. "So you still don't understand your position, do you, Ella?" Her girlish voice turned shrill and menacing. "I think I better rediscipline you in the art of respecting your betters. You must curtsey, Ella, when in the presence of your betters."

She waited for me to sink on my knees, complacent in issuing orders. But I had no intention of obeying.

"I'm sorry Mum Olga; I don't need to practice now, do I?" I batted my lashes for extra emphasis. "After all, I see no betters."

The spider was now a toad. Croaking hoarsely, Mum Olga seemed to expand twice her size with indignant air.

"Curtsey, Ella."

A direct command. The first ten seconds were manageable. I clenched my fists and willed my knees not to bend. The next fifteen seconds were worse. My head pounded and my previous bruise from Olive throbbed. The very air seemed to be against me, pressing down heavily with the sickening scent of Mum Olga's special blend of vanilla, cinnamon, and natural body odor. My stomach heaved. Good thing there was no breakfast. For the last five seconds, I was trying to distinguish from the three Mum Olgas in front of me. Panting, I dropped to my knees. It was instant relief. But not for my heart.

Mum Olga smiled, enjoying the entertainment I provided. "That's better dear. You're learning already." She began working on her hair.

"Ella, I placed you in the kitchen because Mandy had promised vigorous discipline. But did that happen? No. You have become more insolent than ever it seems…Hattie told me about a filthy rat in her bed. I feel now is the time to isolate you from the rest of the staff. We don't want your bad example spreading…" Mum Olga fixed a curl. "I've decided to make you an errand girl. Anything that needs fetching, you will retrieve. From the market, the butcher's, the dressmaker's. Of course, Diana, the laundry maid, will be supervising you. If you steal anything, I will know personally. Besides," she said happily, "having a personal errand runner is so fashionable now."

"No." The word was soft, barely audible. The world was tilting again. This was strange. No order had been issued, so why was my body shaking? I tried again, tried to save the light from the window high above me. "Mandy won't let this happen. She'll quit, Mum Olga. You'll never stuff your face with her cooking."

Mum Olga smiled smugly. "Mandy will stay. And do you know why? Because of you. She cannot bear to abandon her mistress's daughter. I will continue eat her cooking."

I stood there, shocked. I knew she was right. I was now consigned to a dog's life of fetching things. And without Mandy, how would I survive?

"Oh, and Ella? I think we should have a new name to commemorate your position. I think Cinders is the perfect name." Mum Olga laughed, a grating sound that filled the room.

I ran, her laugh echoing through the hallway and chasing me relentlessly until I pushed through gargantuan front doors of the mansion. The mansion sat on a hill like a hulking giant; I could see the whole bustling town spread across the land. It was a beautiful day. The sky looked like a dress I had once admired on my mom: a blue so brilliant it looked unreal and thin snow-white lace that spilled from her collar. Right on the steps, below the blue sky, I began crying. This was my new life.

At the palace courtyard, Prince Charmont looked up from his agriculture books, startled, certain he heard someone crying in his ear. The glass slippers flashed in his mind, and his heart clenched. I will not think of her, I will not think of her, I will NOT think of her….

tbc

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Well, R&R, guys~ (No, you dolt. It doesn't mean relaxation and rest. It means READ and REVIEW. Especially the last part. Why would I want you to rest?)

…Just kidding. Thanks for reading, guys!


	4. Color of Hope

Hi guys~

I'm going to have a lot of time now that it's summer…and that equals more updates!

Correct me for any mistakes..I kinda rushed this one.

Thanks for reading!

--

"Cinders, fetch the lamb leg from the butcher's."

I thought I would die the first day.

"Cinders, return with the dress I ordered from Miss Dralstein's."

A pinched, cynical woman. I hated the condescending look she shot me.

"Cinders, I want some food. Fetch me some candy for Worthman's."

Olive sent me away with no money. Was forced to use savings.

"Cinders, don't forget to pick up the potatoes and three bags of flour."

My arms ached a week after carrying the flour. The grocer's was halfway across Frell.

"Cinders, run to the Van Repimiers and tell them we will be attending the brunch on Saturday."

I pounded on the door for a half hour before a maid came.

Each day was a hell. I had to obey fresh orders constantly. After one week of constant running, my feet looked like I had run through broken glass. My flimsy shoes were torn to shreds, there were more blisters than hair on my head, and the swelling would not go away. After one month, my feet were protected by thick hide-like covering, and I never wore shoes. The sun baked my skin and bleached my hair. I had lost weight, and all my skimpy dresses too fit loosely. With my dirty blonde hair, baked skin and feet that could have walked over an ogre's frying pan, I was unrecognizable. I could have doubled for a scarecrow. The only thing that remained unchanged was my eyes: the shade of hopeful green shoots fighting their way to the sun. It was all wrong.

I rarely saw Mandy. She threw a fit after she heard the news, but in the end, she didn't leave, just like Mum Olga predicted. Mandy still tried to see me, but I was always off running errands. Her warm smile, her sharp humor, even her slippery Tonic, I missed it all. The only good point about being out of the mansion was not seeing Hattie and Olive. Granted, Hattie reveled in my lowly status, and took every opportunity to order me to fetch little trinkets, but being alone was better than smelling her feet.

--

The servants loaded the rest of the luggage onto the fourth carriage. Prince Charmont would be followed by a procession of ten carriages, two of the bearing gifts for the royal family of Joring. He would be accompanied by eight of the most component knights, and there would be a festival when he arrived in Bast. He would stay at Bast for a year, learning the culture and government. The trip helped promote strong relations and was a period of enrichment for the young royal. Secretly, Char knew he was running away. Through the incapacitating numbness, unrest was beginning to reach his ears. The numbness was not that easy to shake off though. No matter how hard he struggled, his thoughts ran in circles, chasing each other into a blur. At dinner. At sword practice. At lessons. At the stables. In his dreams, no errant thought slipped through the mindless loop of words that had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Ella. Glass slippers. Lela. Ella. Glass slippers. Lela…. So when his mother declared his trip to Bast, he did not fight it. Queen Daria had a flash of steel in her eyes that made it clear to Char she saw his behavior and disapproved. How much she knew about the whole problem, Char didn't know. But the study in Bast might have been just the solution. He would seek out Lela and forget about Ella, Char thought determinedly. If only thoughts were so easily caged. It would—

"Char! Are you ready?" The Queen glided toward her son, regal in a dusky purple gown with an embroidered square neckline.

Snapping out of his reverie, Char replied, "Yes, Mother."

"Now, don't forget the gifts, (As if Char could just _forget _the two carriages trailing behind) and let Sir Stephen deal with any ogres along the way. I want you to look your best when you meet the royal family." Queen Daria ticked off the items with her fingers, suddenly looking more like an anxious mom than composed queen. Her voice hitched just a bit as she hugged Char. "I'm going to miss you. Come back safe. You are strong, my son."

Char froze. He heard the warning and encouragement between his mom's lines.

"Don't worry, Mother."

He gently extricated himself from her arms and climbed onto the carriage, preparing himself for the long ride ahead. He breathed a sigh of relief when the horses began to trot. But the procession hadn't begun moving for ten minutes until a flash of iridescence caught his eye.

"Stop!" Char hauled himself out of the carriage, striding toward the glimmer. It was a glass slipper, so caked with mud it was a wonder he noticed it at all. Of course, his stunned mind was rejecting the object in his hand. Why was Lela's glass slipper here? Or was it Ella's? He pocketed the slipper, smiling reassuringly at the driver, who was peering around the partition to see what the hold up was. I will get to the bottom of this, Char vowed, even if I have to check every girl's foot in Bast. The carriage wheels began to turn, transporting the young prince to Bast with a click, click, click.

--

"Ahhh!"

A mountain of soot crashed onto my face. Not a surprise, since I was sticking a poker (the kind usually used for stoking a fire) up the chimney. The maids watched anxiously, edging away from the inky cloud that would stain their starched aprons. A visceral hissing began issuing from the marble fireplace. The maids stepped farther back again.

The fact I was currently doing such an inane thing was not of my voluntary will, of course. Hattie had ordered me to deliver a kitten to the House of the Bhoutans for the daughter's birthday. When I reached the Bhoutans' miniature castle, the kitten, seemingly not pleased with the lurid magenta bow tied to its collar, had struggled out of the basket and ran directly in the Bhoutans' fireplace. I didn't even know that kittens could climb up chimneys. Forty-five minutes later, I emerged, clutching a now-black kitten and bearing numerous scratches. "Tell the young mistress the dearest birthday wishes from Hattie." I curtseyed robotically, handing the kitten to one of the maids, who squealed and juggled the blackened kitten.

I ran out, impatient to go back to the kitchen. _Maybe there would be time to see Mandy before Olive finds me_. But I ran into a solid wall of people. Throngs were lining the roads; people were leaning out of windows. Was there a celebration going on? I could use a parade. I made it to the front, bitterly aware that a couple months before, I would have had to push to get there: now I simply slid through the crowd. The orders and edicts and commands had whittled me down to a skeleton. Shaking myself out of the resentful thoughts, I glanced eagerly down the road, determined to enjoy the celebration.

It seemed to be a line of carriages. As the first one passed, I strained to see who was inside. Maybe it was a visiting dignitary. That couldn't be though, I thought, scanning the carriages with a sudden premonition. They were heading out of Frell.

It was Char. His face was composed, devoid of any life. I gasped, drawing the eyes of the people around me.

And Char.

For one glorious, serendipitous moment, our eyes locked. How ironic that we ended up meeting like I predicted, me in servant's garb and a sooty face. I didn't bother to try and hide. Char would never recognize me. Sure enough, he broke eye contact with me and gave a wan smile to others. Soon, the carriages rumbled out of view. Good, I thought fuzzily, Char, my love, my heart, didn't recognize me….

The world faded to black.

But only temporarily. A face swam hazily into view. A nice face. Nice eyes. Nice nose. A mouth that had thin laugh lines, but clear, youthful skin. It was opening and closing. Was he speaking? I tried to focus.

"-okay? Hey, can you hear me?"

An incoherent confirmation came out of my lips. I nodded weakly instead.

"You gave me quite a scare. Did you have enough to eat? You're awfully thin." Even his eyebrows, which were knitted in concern, were nice. I scrambled to my feet, swaying unsteadily. He automatically adjusted so he was bearing my frame. The most important question bubbled to my lips:

"Where was Cha-Prince Charmont heading?"

"You didn't hear? Prince Charmont is going to Bast for a year to further his studies. That's why there were so many carriages. Did you see those horses? They were really-hey! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

I promptly fainted again.

--

Char locked gazes with a skinny waif. Her hair was all wrong (dirty blonde) and her skin was tan, the color of servants who did harsh drudgery work. Plus, she wasn't even wearing shoes. But her eyes were the shade of unripe bananas. He clenched smooth glass. The sooner he got the Bast, the better. Before his mind fell to pieces.

tbc

--

FINISHED!!

I promised myself I wouldn't stop until Char and Ella met, but I still didn't get everything in I planned. New character, anyone? I wonder what will happen (or you guys will, I already do heheh)

R&R please! You know you want to…


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